Inherit the Dead

it?
    Maybe he was wrong about Angel. Maybe she was a victim—or about to be.
    The road to Montauk was dark, just a few lights flickering in houses on the dunes but almost no cars. Perry gripped the steering wheel. Another mile flew by, then another, until he saw it: the turnoff to Norman Loki’s house.
    Perry switched off his headlights and headed slowly down the private lane. He cut the engine halfway to the house and took the rest on foot.
    An icy chill blew across the dunes and bluff, and he shivered as he walked, head down, collar up, not sure what he was going to do when he got there.
    And that’s when it came to him: what Angel had said.
    Up ahead he could see the house, the cars; he could just make out Norman Loki’s Jeep and Mercedes in the moonlight.
    The downstairs windows were lit up and smoke billowed from the chimney. It looks like it’s out of a storybook, he thought, cozy and tranquil. But he knew better.
    Nicky’s striped scarf whipped around his face as he got closer, then he spotted the car on the side of the road under a thicket of gingko trees, a black Toyota, moonlight playing off the dented back fender.
    The car.
    His stalker.
    Here.
    Perry laid a hand on the hood. Still warm.
    He got out his cell and made a call. “Get here soon as you can—and keep the phone on.” He gave the address then pressed the Mute button.
    Dirt and pebbles crunched under his shoes; ocean waves broke in the distance and the wind howled.
    Crouching now, light from the large bay window falling across him as he moved to the side and caught a glimpse of them, Angel and Norman, being ushered to the sofa by the dark silhouette of a man.
    Perry leaned closer, could hear muffled voices though not what was being said. A few steps along the side of the house, past another window, and this time he saw him: a man with dark hair, holding a gun. And he recognized him.
    Perry moved faster now, making his way around the house until he found the back door, closed but unlocked. He tried to picture the interior as he turned the doorknob and then he was in, spinning through the door into a small mudroom off the kitchen. He could hear voices as he slowly made his way across the room and into a dark hallway that separated the kitchen and living room, the cell phone still in his hand, the whole time holding his breath.
    Halfway down the hall he stopped. He heard them before he saw them.
    “You’re crazy!” Angel’s voice rang out, a mix of arrogance and fear.
    “You dare call me crazy!” It was the dark-haired man. “You, of all people. You have no idea, no fucking idea what I’ve been through!”
    Perry dared a few steps closer. Back flattened against the wall, he could see them.
    Angel and Norman were side by side on the couch. The man faced them, his back to Perry.
    “Just take it easy,” Norman said.
    Perry let out the breath he’d been holding, unsure of his next move. No quick moves, no leaps into the room until he was absolutely certain.
    “Let’s talk it over,” Norman said. “I’m sure—”
    “Sure of what?” There was a high-pitched edge of hysteria in the man’s voice.
    “I’m sure we can work this out,” said Norman. “Whatever it is.”
    “Oh, so you don’t know me?”
    “Should I?”
    “Why would you recognize something thrown away, cast off, a piece of your wife’s garbage.”
    Angel turned to her father. “Daddy, do you have any idea who this—”
    “If it’s money you want,” said Norman, “I can—”
    “Oh, it’s money all right. Why she sent me. To collect what’s rightfully mine.”
    “Who?” Angel look back and forth between her father and the dark-haired man.
    “Tell her,” the man said. “You know, don’t you?”
    Norman Loki shook his head, but even from a distance Perry could see he was lying.
    “We made a deal. Me and Julia. I’d take care of Angel; then we’d split the money fifty-fifty.”
    “Take care of me?” Angel was up now, arms at her sides, hands in fists. “What the hell are you talking about?”
    “Sit down. Or I’ll shoot you.” The man aimed his gun at Angel.
    Perry stiffened, tried to gauge an attack. He could lunge, but what if he miscalculated, was a second too late, and the man fired his gun?
    “Angel—” Norman reached out a hand to his daughter. “Please. Sit down.”
    “Explain it to her,” the man said.
    Angel sat, and Perry watched the scene like a play. He could see the man in profile, the tightness of his jaw, hand gripping